Insatiable
by poorlittlerichgirl91
Summary: PWP; What would her mother say if she could see her now? Rated M for explicit content.


**Author's Note: ****In upper-class society in 1912, a woman's role in intercourse was solely a reproductive function and any semblance of pleasure for pleasure's sake was considered not only unladylike, but also almost inherently wrong. This is a somewhat unstructured, stream-of-consciousness (ish) one-shot about Rose's struggle to accept the intense feelings she has towards Jack, and explores the inner-conflict she faces when she finds herself enjoying – and even initiating – physical intimacy with him.**

**To put it bluntly: this fic is about sex and contains a lot of it – in graphic detail – so please consider this your final warning before you read. It's basically smut. However, I think the sexual dynamic in Jack and Rose's growing relationship is important and I enjoy writing about it! ****If you enjoy, please review!**

* * *

_April 1912_

Butterflies circled her abdomen as her eyes flickered towards the clock in their modest New York City apartment. In the days following the Titanic disaster, Jack had immediately taken up a job - wanting to work and provide for her at the earliest possible opportunity whilst gently urging her to stay home, trying to slowly ease her into their new life together. She'd given up everything to be with him, and it was quite astounding: him, with nothing materialistic or financial to offer her; him, a wandering artist with nothing but ten dollars to his name and an abundance of worldly knowledge, talent, and... _skill_.

She felt her cheeks burn at the thought.

She wandered over to the small mirror and double checked her reflection, catching a glimpse of how her curves hugged the thin satin dress she'd opted to wear. She blushed absentmindedly, images of the previous night flashing in her mind. How his eyes had burned into her flesh, how his artist's hands had kneaded and caressed the voluptuous contours of her body in the darkness, his mouth never trailing far behind.

He'd be home any minute and she felt restless.

* * *

The bed was somewhat on the small size, only slightly bigger than his steerage bunk onboard Titanic. He'd intently watched her face when they'd been shown the apartment, trying to gauge any reservations she may have about the sleeping arrangements; yet her expression had been unreadable. On the evening they moved in, he'd offered to sleep on the floor allowing her the bed to herself, and she had almost laughed in his face.

"Jack, don't be absurd!" She almost felt offended at his suggestion.

She knew that it was just Jack's typical disposition as a gentleman, yet couldn't help wonder why he'd even offer an alternative to sleeping beside her. The insecurity and self-doubt were fleeting, however, as her absent-minded grin was mirrored on his face.

"Why, Miss DeWitt-Bukater, sharing your bed with a penniless artist – a steerage boy no less. Is that entirely proper?" he smirked, snaking his arms around her waist, his blue eyes sparkling.

She giggled shyly, looking down to avoid his playful stare. The realisation that they had in fact done a lot more than merely shared a bed to sleep in was suddenly inescapable. They hadn't spoken about the Renault yet, but suddenly his joke had reminded them both, and she fought the blush creeping its way onto her cheeks.

After a moment, she spoke playfully, sliding her hands up over his suspenders. "It just so happens, Mr Dawson, that I have quite the affinity for penniless artists,"

"Remind me never to take you to Paris," he chuckled, earning an affectionate laugh from her.

He grinned down at her, their noses touching, and her eyes flutter closed, parting her lips to receive his own. He smiles knowingly, loving seeing her wait so earnestly for his kiss. Watching her seek out and actively want to feel his touch, his kisses, had become like a drug for him - he remembered in the gymnasium onboard Titanic when she had denied him so devastatingly - now she couldn't get enough of him.

He brought a hand to cup her face - watching her, cherishing her - and she opened her eyes, puzzled when his lips didn't meet hers.

"Jack, kiss me," she pouted up at him, her eyes travelling from his eyes to his lips and back again.

He brings his lips down to meet hers in a tender kiss which slowly builds in passion. His hand still gently caressing her cheek before moving down her body - his touch scorching her skin - until she feels his fingers at the back of her waist, playing with the sash on her dress, untying it slowly.

"Hows about letting this steerage boy undress you, huh?" His tone, the look in his eyes, his breath against her lips - he's smouldering - and she feels the room spinning.

* * *

Rose curls up in the small bed wearing just her undergarments, suddenly very aware of Jack undressing across the room. She glances over and is met with the sight of his shirt sliding over his shoulders; rippling muscles moving in the dim light and his smooth golden-tan skin. She averts her eyes and swallows hard, noticing that her face is burning all of a sudden.

He crawls beside her and snakes his arm around her waist, hugging her body tightly as he rests his head in the crook of her neck, kissing gently.

"Jack?" She breathes, turning so she's laying on her back.

They share a look and within an instant, they know.

He brings his lips to crash onto hers and she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her.

* * *

The air was thick and for the first time, she felt uncomfortable in his presence. Not at him, never at him, but at the expectations and the implications arising from her previous actions onboard Titanic. She had behaved foolishly - wantonly - and she hoped it had not marred Jack's opinion of her.

Of course, his actions expressed otherwise. In his touch, his kisses, in his eyes, there was a deep adoration, an understanding, and a respect for her. She didn't understand how anyone could respect a woman who throws herself into the arms of a man after knowing him a mere two days, but Jack was... well, Jack. He was different, understanding, unique. She knew she had fallen undeniably and irrevocably in love with him, and that her actions had been a result of that, but in the back of her mind, she could not help scolding herself for not being more restrained around him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His voice came, all soothing and fretting.

He snaked his arms all the way around her waist from the back, holding her, nuzzling his nose against her cheek before kissing softly.

"Hmm?" she sighed, trying to focus on preparing dinner instead of the way his large artistic hands felt on her body.

"You seem distant…" He trailed off, his lips on her neck now, his breath hot against her skin. "Are you alright?"

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore her rapidly increasing heartbeat and the way his body felt pressed up against hers.

The desire she felt for Jack was almost maddening. She had never been taught how to handle such intense feelings - pure, unadulterated lusful desire - and this scared her. Was it normal? Was it bad?

"Jack…" she breathed, gripping the kitchen counter with white knuckles as she feels her knees buckling.

* * *

She'd tried to act restrained when their bodies made shadows on the bedroom walls, tried to stay calm as his mouth moved to plant a trail of frenzied kisses down her neck, down the valley of her torso and over her breasts. His open mouth on her flesh delighted her and she gasps, breathless, as she felt his teeth graze over her nipple. His hands occupied her ample breasts whilst his lips kissed down her stomach. She expected his lips to return back the way they'd came but swallowed hard when instead, she felt his hands parting her thighs and his mouth drifting lower.

A delicious stab of pleasure overcame her as his mouth came into contact with the pinnacle of her aching desire and she gasped loudly.

"Oh-" her eyes bolted open. "Jack," she breathed, "What are you-"

She threw her head back and bit her lip to stifle the moans as his warm tongue flicked against her most sensitive and private area, feeling a hint of bewilderment - she had never imagined people did such things.

She gripped the bedsheets as their eyes met: his piercing blue orbs, glazed over with desire, intently watching her reaction to his ministrations, judging her pleasure. It's all too intense for Rose, her brow furrowing in delirious gratification as her body involuntarily tenses. His fingers immediately lace through her own, squeezing her hand gently in support and affection.

He smirks knowingly, moving his mouth to nip at her inner thigh softly,

"Oh Rose," he uttered. "You're so perfect."

She cooed softly, silently wishing for his mouth to be back on her most intimate area, the pressure building, indescribable. She opened her eyes and looked down at him again, their fingers still intertwined and resting on her abdomen. He rubbed the skin on her hand with his thumb, giving her a few seconds to recover. For a moment he doesn't know whether to continue, not wanting to frighten her.

"Is it okay if I-" he began.

She doesn't even wait for him to finish the sentence, just nods eagerly, almost pleadingly - earning an immediate smirk from Jack who hungrily resumes his position.

"Jack. . ," she half-whispered, half-breathed, fully surrendering to him as she feels his arm lift her leg to drape over his shoulder, spreading her legs further apart, giving him more room.

Jack's blue eyes shoot upwards to watch her reaction every now and then. He chuckled softly, partly in disbelief at how lucky he was to have her, and partly at her reaction to what he was doing to her, the low hum of his voice sending delicious vibrations throughout her body. She felt him laugh and suddenly worried she looked and sounded ridiculous

"Jack, don't laugh. Please, I-" she gasped self-consciously, almost begging him.

"I'm not laughing at you, love. You're just so beautiful,"

"Oh Jack," she whimpered, breathless. "Don't stop."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't." and he doesn't; his lips and tongue never wavering.

She feels him increase his speed somewhat, his nose now pressing and pushing against her swollen bud, and she can hardly believe the pleasure he's causing. She gingerly brings a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping and pulling at his honey-golden strands gently, earning a low groan from him.

He glances up at her, feeling her legs begin to quake underneath his grasp, realising she must be close, wanting to give her the pleasure he knows only he can. He brings two fingers to curl inside of her, gasping at the tightness of her warm velvet walls and feeling his member twinge at how wet she is, all for him.

He's eagerly watching her face now, fascinated by the effect he's having. He can feel her climbing, can sense the pressure building in her body: she was intoxicating; every mortal man's poetic fantasy - she had been his after that day up on deck when their eyes had met across the distance – and now she was his reality. He smiled absent-mindedly, thinking back to Tommy's comment about how he'd 'never get next to the likes of her' and he wondered: what the Irishman would say if he could see Jack now, with his head buried in between her legs.

She inhales sharply, her mouth forming a silent O as his fingers speed up to match the movements of his tongue. It feels exquisite. And then, suddenly, she's there: an earth-shattering eruption of ecstasy overcomes, wracking her body in waves of endless pleasure. She yelps, barely audible, before crying out his name over and over, her eyes squeezed shut and hips rolling uncontrollably.

She feels his grip tighten on her legs, steadying her body as she thrashes beneath him and he rides with her, following her back down, wanting to ensure her every last fragment of pleasure. His tongue still darting over her flesh, his eyes - glazed over with an intense, hooded desire - burning into her, enjoying the view. She tries to stay quiet, tries to be restrained and ladylike - despite the powerful urge to scream out - but her body betrays her as she shakes and squirms beneath him, the pleasure inescapable.

He feels her walls pulsate, aftershocks coursing through her body, and he laps up the remainder of her juices, not being able to quite get enough of her: she is delicious, she is astounding; she is all his. As he kisses his way back up her body, she lets out a panting sigh and meets his eyes, a flush creeping its way onto her face as her hands tangle in his hair.

"Jack, that was..." she breathes, speechless.

He immediately grins, satisfied, and kisses her lips tenderly. She suddenly felt shy, imagining what must have been going through his head as he watched her come undone beneath his talented mouth. He brings a hand up to cup her crimson cheek, caressing her, and leans in to rub his nose softly against hers in a sweet eskimo kiss. He pulls back and gazes into her eyes, the smug grin never leaving his face.

His beauty in this moment almost takes her breath away.

* * *

_May 1912_

"Jack, I need to apologise for the way I acted on Titanic."

It's been on her mind for awhile, and she only just builds up the courage to tell him, randomly and without warning one afternoon as they're unpacking groceries.

He looked at her puzzled, not having the first clue about what she had to be even remotely sorry about or why this worry had crept up on her mind, seemingly out of the blue. He frowned as he watched her twiddle her fingers nervously, never wanting her to be too anxious to confide in him. He walked towards her, taking a seat on their couch and pulled her onto his lap.

Feeling his hands caress her soft curls, she shyly brought her eyes to meet his and nearly cried at the care and concern reflecting in those piercing orbs. She brought a hand to rest on the back of his neck, fingering through his golden strands in attempt to calm her nerves.

"I've been thinking a lot about how we only knew each other two days before I threw myself at you, whilst I was another man's fiancé no less-"

Jack immediately started to shake his head and went to open his mouth in protest but he stayed silent when he saw the unresolve in her sapphire eyes. He brought a hand up to cup her face lovingly and allowed her to finish.

"I just-" she started, before taking a moment to think about how to phrase her words. "You make me feel things, Jack. You make me feel so good, so beautiful, I didn't even know that kind of pleasure existed before I met you." she looked down whilst she spoke, not wanting to meet his eyes in fear of blushing and not finishing what she had to say. "But I was always told that it's not meant to be this way. It's not meant to feel good for women, that women who enjoy intercourse are somehow bad. I feel like a whore."

She bit her lip, finding his eyes, tears threatening to fall. She blinked them away silently, wanting to discuss her thoughts with him and fearing her emotions take away from the moment.

"Well first of all, you never threw yourself at me," he sighed, pulling her closer. "We fell in love. It's called making love for a reason. Secondly, you're not a whore – you're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, the woman I want to marry, make babies with, grow old beside,"

There were fresh tears in her eyes now, and she gazed at him gratefully as he continued,

"Rose, you're not dirty or bad or wrong for enjoying when we make love. I want you to feel as beautiful and amazing as you are. Knowing I can show you how much I love you, and being able to make you feel things you've never felt before, in turn, makes me feel good too."

"But Jack, why do I feel guilty?"

He looked at her, perplexed. "I guess it's because you were brought up in a world where they try to make women feel guilty for wanting to be anything other than decorative ornaments or for taking the slightest bit of control." he thought of Cal, anger in his voice. "But you're a person, Rose. You're an incredible, astounding, beautiful person-" he was kissing her now, his voice soft. "When I make love to you and I watch you completely coming undone and calling my name-"

"Jack!" her eyes widened, blushing profusely. He tightened his grip on her a little more.

"-I see that beautiful, free spirit they could never stifle or suffocate, in all her glory." he finished, looking unflinchingly into her eyes.

His honesty and love for her overwhelmed her. She searched his eyes, speechless. How lucky she felt to have him. He was truly remarkable; worth a hundred of the first class 'gentlemen' she had been forced to endure. She studied his face, cherishing every pore, wanting to burn his image into her retina and remember him in this breathtaking detail always. Her heart felt full with love; she felt like she'd stumbled across the best kept secret and the urge to protect and keep it safe always. All of Rose's fears were gone, she no longer cared about the etiquette of what was considered proper or improper, she loved Jack and her body responded in beautiful, natural ways to his touch. None of this was wrong. She knew that now.

Then, as if drawn by the force of a thousand magnets, she pressed her lips against his urgently, wanting to feel him closer, needing to feel him closer.

"Jack," she breathed, hypnotised against his lips and already fumbling with his shirt buttons. "Make love to me,"

He kisses her, hard, his hand snaking up her thigh and finding the back of her dress. He undoes the fastening, and lifts it over her head, loving the way her full breasts bounce in the lace-trimmed camisole she's wearing. Rose, still sat on his lap, slips his suspenders over his broad shoulders and frantically pulls his shirt off, leaning to kiss the hollow of his warm neck before moving down, showering the rippling muscles of his smooth, tan chest in an assault of frenzied kisses. She feels butterflies and the dull ache in the pit of her groin return when she hears him moan and feels his hardness press against her. She squeals in delight when she feels Jack hoist her up into his arms and carry her to the bedroom, their lips finding one another's again.

Jack lays her on the bed gently and drinks her in with his eyes: he is bewitched by her; her desire-induced haze, the way her red curls have fallen above her head like a halo, her bare legs – silky and porcelain, just like the rest of her. She is ethereal; otherworldly, a goddess among mortal men. He leans down and kisses her hungrily, pulling off the camisole and immediately occupying his hands and mouth with her breasts, watching as his actions make her shiver with excitement. He kisses down her body, leaving goosebumps in his wake and whispering his love for her as he reaches the hem of her bloomers, pulling them down eagerly.

He kisses her sensitive mound tenderly and runs a finger down her slit, feeling his erection throb almost painfully at the heavenly noise she makes in response. Lapping up her sweet nectar, he pushes down his pants with his free hand and starts tugging at his member in unison with the flicking of his tongue against her; pumping to the sight of her back arching, mouth agape, voice breathless. He inserts one finger, and then two into her velvet folds, grunting against her clitoris as he works himself faster. When he feels her walls start to tighten, he knows she's prepped enough, and he re-positions himself so his tip is pressing against her sacred opening.

They both gasp as he enters her gently, she smiles against his nose, loving the feeling of being filled with him. Jack is inside her: she is one with the man she loves more than anything on earth. It always feels so beautiful. She wants it to last forever.

He goes slowly at first, cupping her face and cherishing her as their bodies move in heavenly unison.

"Faster, Jack," she groans, her nails digging into his skin as she holds onto his arms for dear life.

They gaze into each other's eyes lovingly for a second before Jack adjusts his position and starts snapping his hips to hers faster, granting her request, chewing his bottom lip in concentration.

The bed starts to creak as Jack's thrusts increase in rhythm, and they moan breathlessly into each other's mouths. Faster still, the headboard starts to slam against the wall, their activities surely obvious to their neighbouring occupants - but Jack and Rose are too far gone to think about that. He bites her bottom lip dominantly, his tongue slipping inside her mouth as he feels her bare legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer into her.

Suddenly, they are disturbed by a loud banging on the other side of the bedroom's thin drywall, followed moments later by a shrill, elderly woman's voice who they instantly recognise as their landlord's miserable wife.

"Oi! That's enough of that!"

Jack abruptly stops thrusting and they look at each other wide-eyed, silent for a few seconds before bursting out into a fit of laughter similar to when they evaded the stewards in the cargo hold onboard Titanic. Jack collapses on top of Rose in muffled hysterics, burying his face in her curls as she tries to contain her hushed giggles.

"I've had just about enough of you two!" the voice still squawking in the background.

Jack is still laughing as Rose places a finger on his soft lips to silence him, before rolling them over playfully. She pulls him up so he's sitting with her straddling his lap, one leg on each side. She cups his face, kissing him deeply, rolling her hips against his in this new position. Further away from the headboard now, the bed doesn't move as much under their weight, allowing them more discretion.

Jack looks into her eyes with playful surprise gracing his features. He wants to be taken aback by her dominance but realises that this is Rose: his strong, beautiful, free-thinking Rose; not one for convention or rules.

He groans into the crook of her neck, one hand on her breast and the other massaging her hip, holding her to him.

"I love you," he whispers against her skin.

Rose grasps his hair, pulling him up from her neck and pressing the tip of her nose against his so they're looking into each other's eyes as they make love; moving together, gazing into the depths of each other's soul.

She calls his name breathlessly as she throws her head back in pleasure. Jack showers the exposed part of her throat and neck in frenzied kisses as he feels her tighten around him. He groans quietly, biting her flesh gently as they come in unison; their movements becoming wild and clumsy as they ride out their orgasm. Rose cries out again, causing Jack to bring a hand to cover her mouth, not wanting them to get scolded a second (or third, or tenth) time.

* * *

Morning is her favourite time. Waking up in Jack's arms and the two hours she gets to share with him before he has to leave for work. She makes it a habit to wake before him, loves to watch the sunrise illuminate his beautiful face as he stirs gently, strands of his hair falling over his closed eyes. She loves to observe him in the peaceful moments his mind isn't plagued with matters of money or the trauma of Titanic: when he's drawing, or sleeping, or making love to her - there is a serene glow about him; makes him look like the angel he is.

They sleep together naked, a tendency that began as the aftermath of lovemaking but has become a nightly habit, even when Jack is exhausted after a long day of work and slumps down asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. The intimacy of their naked bodies touching, skin on skin, silent caresses in the darkness; it's truly a necessity for Rose. She sleeps in his arms - can't sleep without feeling his hands on her. If it was up to her, they would be touching at all times in some way, no matter how light or subtle the contact. Even the way he brushes past her nonchalantly in the mornings, the way he places his hands on her hips to gently move her out of his way in their cramped kitchen, the way their legs touch under the table at breakfast; any physical contact makes her heart beam with love.

She lingers in his arms, counting the freckles on his nose, before closing her eyes and breathing in his faint scent of sandalwood and charcoal, cherishing him. A few minutes later, she starts to silently untangle herself from their web of limbs, wanting to surprise him with breakfast, but before she can move from the bed she's met with strong arms tightening their grip around her naked waist.

"Nuh uh," he protests, eyes closed, voice thick with sleep.

Rose lets out a playful giggle, struggles feebly against him, putting up a weak fight in the hopes he'll pull her closer – which of course he does – and she sighs in delight, feeling his warm chest press against her back, his lips placing lazy kisses along her shoulder and neck.

"Where d'ya think you're goin', huh?" comes his voice in her ear, playful and happy.

She laughs again, resting her hands on top of his, feeling so safe and content she could cry.

"What would my mother say if she could see me now, Jack?" Rose sighs absentmindedly, caressing his hands over her waist. "Waking up every morning in the arms of the man I love,"

"Man or vagrant?" he jokes.

"Sleeping naked, kissing with tongues–"

"–Your insatiable appetite in the bedroom," Jack added, chuckling into her red curls, kissing her head tenderly.

"It's _that boy's_ influence Rose" she mocks her mother, exaggerating the snootiness in her voice. "He's corrupted you with finger paintings and fornication" she adds, before rolling her eyes and laughing again.

Jack just pulls her against him tighter, neither of them ever able to get close enough.

"I never knew what real love was until I met you, Jack," she sighs contemplatively, after a few seconds of silence. She turns over to face him, eyes searching his deeply. "Marry me,"

He instantly turns his head to face her, not quite believing his ears at first - the intensity in her gaze nearly taking his breath away. Right then and there, he's more in love with her than ever. His carefree, amazing, unpredictable, wild Rose. His shock subsides in seconds, a wide grin replacing the disbelieving expression on his face.

"You're asking _me_?" he beams at her, astonishment and wonder in his voice – all for her.

She does nothing except smile up at him, nodding gently. "I know it's not entirely orthodox–"

"Sweetheart, when have we ever cared about being orthodox?"

She grins, laughing at the realisation that their entire relationship has been somewhat unorthodox – and she doesn't care.

"So... is that a yes?" she whispers, her fingers through his sandy hair, pulling him closer to her lips.

"Oh Rose," he cups her face, kissing her firmly. "Of course it is,"

She deepens their kisses, pulling him on top of her again, sighing happily. Unorthodox or not, their relationship is respectful, understanding, supportive: Jack sees her as his equal; a human being with her own passions and dreams – not a delicate trophy wife who must be resigned to dull and mindless activities simply because she's a woman. With Jack, for the first time in her life, Rose is not deprived of agency or autonomy – he's truly set her free, in every way that a person can be set free; and she isn't concerned about what her mother or Cal thinks – the whole of Philadelphia society can read about it for all she cares. Jack loves her: Jack sees her; she chooses him.


End file.
